The Song of the Wind

Folks wonder why Im so oft in the woods
Whilen way hours - up to no good
How little they know, its not game I pursue
But a song, if heard once, its ever again new.
A song - yes, the Song of the Wind.

The day I first heard it, it changed me for ere.
It lifted my heart far up from lifes care.
It enchanted my soul with its sweet haunting sound,
And calls me forever back to the wild ground.
Its the song, yes, the Song of the Wind.

Its a song that the sirens never can sing.
Its a song of the angels upon bended wing.
Its a song that no civilized tongue can eer tell.
Its a song that dances on sight, taste and smell.
Its the song, yes, the Song of the Wind.

Its a song in the mists that rise from the stream
On an early June morning - like out of a dream.
A canoe glides by - the only sound that is made
Is the dip of the paddle - cross the surface is played.
The song, yes, the Song of the Wind.

Its the smell of fallen leaves on a crisp autumn morn,
Its the call of wild geese as they circle the corn
Its the rocks - they may have started to sing
In praises to Jesus, the Messiah and King -
The song, yes, the Song of the Wind.

Its a song that the sirens never can sing.
Its a song of the angels upon bended wing.
Its a song that no civilized tongue can eer tell.
Its a song that dances on sight, taste and smell.
Its the song, yes, the Song of the Wind.

So, remember, now friends, wherever you go,
When you venture to fields with rifle or bow.
Theres something far greater than your quarry youll find
When you listen with your heart instead of your mind.
To the song, yes, the Song of the Wind.

Written in Nov, 1999 after a day of hunting at
Sycamore State Park, Trotwood, OH

Huron Shoreline


Walking along the Huron shoreline,
Shivering lightly as the damp April wind
Whips around my collar,
Sending tiny drops of water down my back.


Walking along the Huron shoreline,
Watching as a spring storm scuds out across Thunder Bay,
Sending down sheets of rain
To caress the top of the waves as it races towards Ontario.


Walking along the Huron shoreline.
Spring has come to the land down below.
Yet here north of the Saginaw,
Winter still tries to maintain its icy grip.


Walking along the Huron shoreline,
There are no cries of the gulls,
Or the trittering of sand pipers now,
Only the crash of the waves and the whistling of the wind.




Written 4-03 while walking along the shoreline near Oscoda, MI


Special Times




There are some very special times
That only the hunter knows;
Of early dawn spent in the forest,
Watching as the morning grows.
Of evenings spent in a tree stand,
As the daylight slowly drifts away.
You want that moment to last forever.
Oh, God, you wish itd stay.


Theres the thrill that shakes you to the core
When that deer first comes into view.
How hard it was to sit in silence
And to let those does go thru.
You wanted to cough, or to sneeze,
Youd swear they could hear your heart a-thumpin.
And when that big buck came into sight,
Man, that was really something!


Or that time when it was six below,
Youd swear that youd lost your mind.
The wind was blowing out of the north.
Why am I sitting in the blind?
Yet all thought of the cold vanished away
When you saw your winters meat.
Sweat was running from every pore.
You could almost feel your feet!


Or you think of clear autumn mornings,
Somewhere out in the hardwoods.
Smelling the decaying autumn leaves
Bet some fried squirrel would sure taste good!
Youve seen an owl, a fawn, and 3 blue jays,
But nary a bushy tail.
Theres a woodpecker high up in that tree.
If you went home right nowdid you fail?


Youve taken the time to get outside
And listen to natures call,
When you could be home watching the tube,
Or taking your wife to the mall.
Each moment you spend in the woods
Has a beauty you cannot measure.
To see this world that God has created
Friend, thats really a treasure.

There are some very special times
That only the hunter knows;
Of early dawn spent in the forest
Watching as the morning grows.
Of evenings spent in a tree stand,
As the daylight slowly drifts away.
You want that moment to last forever
Oh, God, thank You for today!


Written 10-18-03 while squirrel hunting near Eaton, OH
While I was writing this poem, a six-point buck came within 25 yards of where I was sitting